Somewhere Out There
by BizGirlCharlie
Summary: Song fic: Months after Jeff Hardy left the WWE, a diva reflects on the ways he changed her life


Title: Somewhere Out There, a song fic based on the Our Lady Peace song

Author: BizGirlCharlie

Rating: PG-13 for drug use, adult themes

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a golden retriever and some very cool action figures.

PLEASE NOTE: This is real person fic, but it is also simply a work of FICTION. The story is based on a song and the happenings are figments of my imagination. I am not making any allegations about any past or present wrestling superstars. The drug use and themes of this story are as real as stories where superstars become vampires. Sure, it could happen. . .

Characters: Jeff Hardy/??? (some kind of female)

Summary: Months after Jeff left the WWE, a diva reflects on the ways he changed her life.

_'Last time I talked to you_

_You were lonely and out of place_

_You were looking down on me_

_Lost out in space'_

I guess none of us thought you'd actually go. Not really. Sure, we knew you'd lost the passion, but everyone's been there. Everyone stops sometimes to wonder what else is out there, what could be if they weren't in that particular place at that particular time. But that's the difference between you and them. You're the one who always followed his dreams and for that, I love you.

I remember you that night. Why you chose me is something I'll perhaps never know, but you were there at the door to my room and you were asking me to come with you, to be with you. You looked so tired and pale and maybe I should have invited you in, fed you and put you to bed, but you asked me to go and so I went. I followed you into the night, into the darkness that always welcomed you. I asked if I could drive and you let me. . .I'd seen in your eyes that you were on something, but still I didn't think twice about going with you. You looked lost, you looked afraid. You looked as though you needed me and I thought that maybe it was your time. Time for you to ask me for the help we all knew you had to have. It was a burden on my shoulders but you, you were never a burden. You were magnificent.

_'We laid underneath the stars_

_Strung out and feeling brave_

_I watched the red orange glow_

_I watched you float away'_

I didn't say a word when you lit up the joint. I knew you needed the calm that could only come from the drug within to balance what you'd already taken. And when you passed it over to me I took it and felt the fragrant air fill my lungs. I needed the calm and I needed the courage, the courage to tell you what you needed to hear, that you couldn't go on like this, that you were hurting yourself, hurting Matt and Amy and your millions of friends and fans. . .and you were hurting me. But more than this, I needed the courage to keep my mouth shut. You'd brought me here for a reason and you'd tell me, I'd just have to wait and let you do it on your own terms.

I took only one drag and handed it back to you, then watched you smoke, your face thoughtful in the darkness. The joint burnt down in orange and red as the seconds ticked past and there was silence, pure silence. When it was gone, you crushed it into the grass. And then you took my hand.

"I'm in trouble," you said.

And you were trembling, though you probably didn't even know it, so I squeezed your hand.

"I know."

You gave a frustrated sigh, your head jerking a little. "No, you don't know. I'm in real big trouble. They're gonna fire me."

This was news. I thought you were exaggerating, misinterpreting things because you were high. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Your crisp words and the silence that followed said everything for me. You were telling the truth and you knew all the implications.

"Well. . .what did they say?"

You grunted a little and in the pale moonlight I watched you playing with your hair. "They said I'm on my last chance. I gotta go in some kind of treatment program. And you know, I gotta pay for it and they're not gonna pay me until I'm done. I just don't get why they treat me so different, you know? I mean yeah, I do some coke, but so does Paul, so do half those guys. You know that."

"Yeah, I know," I said at the time, but I never told you what I was thinking, that it wasn't just the coke, and it sure wasn't just the pot. Because there was always something with you. By the time this day had come I could hardly remember what you looked like when you weren't high on something. That's why I was so worried about you. That's why we all were.

"And it's not like when Paul does it he's doing it for any reason. He just wants to get high. He doesn't do it to see the colors and the shapes. He doesn't do it to listen to the music swelling around him, running in and out. He doesn't do it to create like I do."

But you were creative before you started with that stuff. I know you were. It's my first memory of you, when our paths first crossed. 

You were standing backstage before Raw or SmackDown, watching on the monitor as the cameras filmed test shots of the crowd. While everyone else ran around, memorizing lines and match sequences, you were looking at the crowd. I wondered what had you so captivated, but I guessed you were reading the signs, seeing which of them were for you. You were famous, even back then. And then you must have felt that you were being watched because you turned to me, smiling like we were old friends, though we'd met not long before.

"Check this out," you said to me, pointing at the screen. "Look at all the people out there. You see them? All the colors and shapes and sizes?"

And maybe I thought you were high even then, but I looked anyway. And you were right. When I really looked, the sea of faces became individual people, each one different, each one uniquely beautiful. It was a revelation and for the first time, but of course not the last, I looked at you in awe.

You were still smiling, as if you knew I was falling in love with you, then and there.

"I do this whenever I can," you told me, glancing back at the screen. "It's like the ocean. It's never the same twice. You can try to remember it all, but you don't need to because next time it'll be just as nice, only different, that's all."

And that was you, in a nutshell. You were the one who wasn't afraid to be different. That's what struck me in that moment as we stood together, watching the crowd. All the other wrestlers I'd known, no matter where they'd come from, where they'd started out, they were all headed in the same direction. They were all wrestlers. But you, you went where you wanted to go. You were a wrestler, an artist, a musician, a poet – a million different things, a million different people. You were the ocean to me, my ever-changing enigma.

And I remember that now as I did when I lay with you on the school sports field, staring up at the stars, the same stars we'd watched together so many times before. The same, but different. An endless ocean, a sea of people. And I knew then what you were going to say. It was time for you to go. Time to leave us all behind and start over, to make a few more raindrops in the ocean of your life. Like the opening of floodgates, it was time to set you free.

_'Down here in the atmosphere_

_Garbage and city lights_

_You've gone to save your tired soul_

_You've gone to save our lives_

_I turned on the radio_

_To find you on satellite_

_I'm waiting for the sky to fall_

_I'm waiting for a sign'_

It's times like now when I miss you the most. You know how things are in midyear – on the road all the time, days blending together and cities becoming a single blur of people and buildings and smog, blinding lights and littered streets. When I look out my hotel window and all I can see are buildings and the hazy sky, I think of you and wonder what you might say to make things different, to make things beautiful. Because that's something that's haunted me since you left. The stark realization. Without you, there is no beauty. A tree is just a tree and I take the sky for granted, I guess because it's there and you're not. You only miss things once they're gone.

But you're not forgotten, you know. Not at all. People still talk about you. Some of them still shake their heads, wondering why you didn't just play ball. They're the same ones who thought you were given too many second chances anyway. But then there are the others, those like me, who understand why you did it, why you had to leave. And though they might criticize your decision to quit your job and not seek therapy like Vince asked, they know that for you, leaving was the most important step in your recovery, and it had to be the first one you took. You've become a martyr to us all, to everyone who dared to think, dared to dream of life outside of wrestling. And we hope you're doing well, that you're finding the beauty you so freely gave away.

Sometimes when I'm driving and listening to the radio, I'll flip through the stations, wondering if I'll hear your band. And though I never do, I don't feel disappointed, because I know you're building and someday you'll be there. So I let the days go by and I flip the stations and wait to hear your voice. A word from you, the only thing that can bridge this distance between us.

_'And all we are_

_Is all so far_

_'You're falling back to me_

_You're a star that I can see_

_I know you're out there_

_Somewhere out there_

_You're falling out of reach_

_Defying gravity_

_I know you're out there_

_Somewhere out there_

_'Hope you remember me_

_When you're homesick and need a change_

_I miss your purple hair_

_I miss the way you taste'_

I think of all the phases in your life that I was there for, some which I was a part of. The way they all appeared to flow into one another so seamlessly and you, floating along with them. Your life is an ice berg. Most people only see the surface, but then you let someone collide and they fall under the ocean with you.

I would have drifted with you forever. They all said we made the perfect couple. We were the young ones, the talent for the future. And being with you made me feel young, made me feel free. I saw things so differently when I was holding your hand, as though I'd been blind all my life and you'd given me the gift of sight. I loved our walks through the park and visits to galleries. I loved to sit with you as you strummed your guitar and sang me the songs you had in your head. And how you'd always try to convince me to let you dye my hair, some bright and carefree color. Though I always refused, you never held it against me. I could understand if you had. You had an affinity with color, you loved to surround yourself with it. I guess I always thought I was too plain for you, but I cherished our months together. I loved your intensity and your spontaneity. I loved the wild and crazy times we shared. But I also loved the quiet moments, just to be with you, to kiss you and hold you in my arms.

All too soon it was over and you had to drift away, to touch someone else, to drown them in your life. And I understood then as I do now, why it had to end, but I love you still and I miss you, more than you could know. And I think of you, more than I probably should. And I wonder, if maybe sometime when you have a moment, in one of those quiet times, you might think of me too, and miss me just the same.

_'I know you'll come back someday_

_On a bed of nails I'll wait_

_I'm praying that you won't burn out_

_Or fade away'_

There are days when I'm so close to calling you I actually have your number keyed into the phone. It's always when I've heard something about you, some little truth or rumor about what you've been doing. If I called you, I'd let you know what's going on with me, too. They're giving me the women's title tonight, because they say Gail Kim's not ready, despite all the time I spent working with her at OVW. You know how they like to use me as a role model for the new girls. I think we'd laugh about this, if you knew. They do nothing with my character for months and then I'm suddenly the women's champion. And you'd smile at me and say that that's what life is all about – changing fortunes and inconsistencies but of course, that's what makes life beautiful. But if I called you, I'd argue that point. I heard you've sold some paintings on ebay and that's cool, but it's ebay. I bet I could find a buyer for my old gym shoes if I tried to. 

And if I called, I'd tell you to come back to us, where you have some level of security. The fans still love you; Shane tells us we're always getting letters and emails asking when you'll be back. I'd tell you this and that you belong here with us, not wherever you are now. That you need to fly again, physically instead of metaphysically. But it's the fact that I'd say those things that stops me from calling. I need to let you figure that out, I need you to be you. Someday you'll drift back to us and we'll welcome you with open arms. Once you've rediscovered your innate creativity and let go of the drugs as I know you will. And I hope it won't be too long, that time is kind for you and things are getting better and not worse. I hope you're eating and sleeping and I hope you're surrounded by friends. And I hope I keep hearing about you, about what you've been doing, and that you're remembering not to take life too seriously, and that you still see color and beauty, everywhere you look.

So no, I don't call you. Instead I wait, looking forward to the day when you call me and tell me you're coming come. 

And so I say a prayer for you, Jeff Hardy, my ocean, the most wonderfully unique man I've ever been lucky enough to know. And I hope that you hear me, wherever you are.

_'And all we are_

_Is all so far_

_'You're falling back to me_

_You're a star that I can see_

_I know you're out there_

_Somewhere out there_

_You're falling out of reach_

_Defying gravity_

_I know you're out there_

_Somewhere out there'_


End file.
